The Little Girl and the Wildflower - Part 1

Once upon a time there lived in the foothills a little girl. She loved nature so - the trees, the leaves, the flowers. Every morning she would wake to the wonderful scent of a wildflower that grew somewhere up in the mountains. Every evening she would drift off to sleep in its fragrance.

During the day, the little girl gathered firewood and fetched water from the stream. It was autumn, and every now and then she would pause to admire the fall colors. As she did, she would catch herself thinking about her wildflower: how vibrant his colors must be, how brilliant and shiny his petals, wet with the morning dew. And then she would be suddenly lonely, wishing she could have her wildflower with her.

When the sun thinned the air, she would miss his fragrance. She would call out to him: “Wildflower, wildflower, I miss you! I wish you were here!” And the wildflower would answer, “I wish I were there with you too, little girl!”

As time went by, the little girl talked to the wildflower everyday. She sang to him. She couldn’t wait to tell him every minute what she was doing. And the wildflower felt that he was part of her day, and, as time went by, that he was simply part of her.

Then, one day, the little girl decided to journey into the mountain to find her wildflower. She told him: “Wildflower, I will go into the mountain. I want to bring you back with me to my little cottage.”

And the wildflower, long used to the bitter cold of the mountain, felt just a little surprised at himself. For he had not known till then how much he looked forward to the warmth of the little girl’s hearth. How much he wanted to be held between her palms.

The little girl journeyed into the mountain. Up the winding trails she went. And when the trails gave out, she made her own way through the stones and brambles, guided by his scent.

She called out to him: "I’m coming, wildflower!”
And the wildflower replied, “I can’t wait, little girl!”

Finally, the little girl heaved herself over the last cluster of stones, and there he was! Her wildflower! But, where were the colors? The brilliance? The shiny petals, wet still from the morning dew? Instead, there he was: a lone clump of white, perched bleakly on a single stem.

The wildflower did not notice her disappointment. “How glad I am to see you, at last, little girl!”, he cried, ecstatically. And the little girl looked at him with infinite sadness and sat down beside him and wept silently inside.

As the sky reddened and the sun prepared to tuck in for the night, the little girl gathered herself up and trudged downhill. The wildflower did not understand what had happened as he watched her go. However, there was the setting sun to think of, and that it would soon be dark and cold again. So he kept his own counsel and did not call her back.

Late in the evening, long after it was dark, he heard a small voice from the cottage down the hill: "Wildflower, I am home. I hope you are well.”

And the wildflower cried, “Little girl, little girl, why do you forsake me so?”

And the small voice answered: “I am sorry, wildflower. I imagined you were something different. If life were fragrance alone, I’d bring you back with me in a heartbeat. My need for color is much, much greater than my need for you. I wish that, someday, you may find what you need.”

And the wildflower prepared for another winter.

[see also Part - 2 >>]

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Photo by Louis Agassiz Fuertes
Cornell University
Rare and Manuscript Collections
Medium: Black-and-white photograph
Size: 3.75" x 4.75"
Support: Paper
Type: Black-and-white photographs;Photographs
Title: Hut in the hills